


Tongue-Tied

by CapConspicuous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, PWP, SHEITH - Freeform, Smut, Soft Boys, Threesome - M/M/M, fastburn, really soft, shklance - Freeform, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 15:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapConspicuous/pseuds/CapConspicuous
Summary: Lance wants them just as badly as they want him.Keith sees it, alright- Keith, not even known to be the most perceptive person in the room ever, can see it. He can taste it, in the air, when he slides past Lance to grab something, or when he finds their gazes locked- for the slightest second- from across the room, or when Shiro sighs too loudly as he stretches and Keith swears to God, he can see Lance’s eyes catch and his breath latch-And Keith doesn’t feel the slightest bit jealous or ticked off. Just a note of empathy rings through him and the sudden image- Lance, under Shiro, under him-





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Tongue-Tied by Grouplove

“Okay, okay, remind me again- why are we at Lance's house?”

 

“Because you're a good boyfriend?”

 

“Mmmnope, that doesn't add up.”

 

“Because… you love me?”

 

“Mmmmm… not that one either.”

 

“Because you promised?”

 

“Uh, nahhhh-”

 

Snapping his fingers, Keith interrupts Shiro before he can finish his thought. “Oh! Right, because I threatened to withhold sex.”

 

It’s a joke, but it still shuts Shiro up. He sends a baleful glare at Keith, who’s sitting at the coffee table facing the TV with an astrophysics textbook propped open in front of him. Reclining on the couch just behind Keith, Shiro continues absent-mindedly clicking through the channels, though the signal is pretty crappy in the basement.

 

“Anyways,” Keith twirls his pencil impressively, “Lance is _your_ friend too, and you know why we're _actually_ here.” It's winter break for all of them now, and what’s better than spending a day off at your best friend's house, boyfriend in tow?  

 

Well. Keith’s thinking about a couple things in particular, but that's besides the point. Maybe Shiro can tell what Keith's thinking because he lets out a snort, either of pride or disbelief, and whacks the back of Keith's head with an old couch pillow. Gently.

 

“Hey-” Keith whirls around, surely looking murderous if it isn't for the ghost of a smile threatening to possess his lips, “What do you think you're-” The pillow returns to collide with his face this time- and Shiro laughs at the annoyed expression the pillow reveals when he pulls back.

 

“Sorry, you got a little something-” Shiro gestures vaguely to his own face, “I was just helping you out-” Turning away again, Keith rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath, only for the pillow to be thrown at his head again.

 

“Shiro! I _swear_ -” but Keith is laughing, not even stifled laughter, wrenching the pillow from Shiro’s grasp and hoisting it over his head. “You're really gonna get it-” the pillow comes down once, on Shiro's middle, twice, onto Shiro's shoulder- and then Shiro grabs Keith by the wrist, toppling him forward so he lands horizontal- on the broader man, hands braced on his chest, knees spread.

 

Keith isn't exactly unhappy about the turn of events. He's actually the opposite from that. The deep rumble of Shiro's laugh as he winds his arms around Keith's waist, effectively stopping him from attempting to wriggle off, is warm. Not that Keith was planning on going anywhere. Or finishing his assignment. Nope.  

 

A shock of white hair falls in front of Shiro's eyes, but they still glint when he smirks. “So. Am I going to get it or what?”

 

“You little shit,” Keith murmurs, still propping himself up on his hands, letting the distance waver.  But the curve of Shiro's lips only grows wider at the endearment and he arches an eyebrow like “ _Look who's talking?_ ”

 

Keith supposes he's right.

 

“C’mon, don't give empty promises,” and yes, Keith loves it when Shiro's voice dips like that, volume low but the want spiking high, his hands already carding through the hair at the nape of Keith's neck, nails slipping softly against the skin there. Shiro blinks lazily as he continues to say those things, the soft words- the “ _come on, baby_ ”, the “ _don’t leave me all high and dry now_ ”, and the “ _aren't you going to get what you came for?_ ”.

 

And Keith feels his hands, or lets them, slide from where they keep his full weight off Shiro, where they separate their bodies- they slip past Shiro’s collarbones, past the arching line on either side of his neck, and finally come to rest on either side of his face, so Keith is cupping his hands just under Shiro's ears. All the while, the absence of Keith's arms between them had brought them together so now they're chest to chest, Keith's thumbs just grazing Shiro's cheekbones, faces only a breathspan apart.  

 

“Why don't you let me show you why you're here then,” Keith breathes the words so quietly but he still feels like it's getting hotter with every syllable that rolls off his tongue, “How about that?” The flutter of Shiro's lashes is answer enough, as clear as the day and the way the grip in Keith's hair grows tighter.

 

Keith takes Shiro’s wordless yes as slowly as he leans down, drawing out the wait before he finds that Shiro's lips are under his and they're just as warm as they always are, willing, ready- he loves the way they open when Shiro finally takes his shuddering breath, lungs expanding under Keith's weight as if he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment, the slide of tongue and the touch of teeth. The constant heat of Shiro's entire body holding Keith up radiates through him at every point they are aligned at, legs tangling together, hands smoothing down Keith's back- and everything is the sweet, molten swell of lava still- concentrated, excruciating slowness to contradict their accelerating hearts.

 

The warmth only further blossoms when Shiro settles his hands low on Keith's hips, keeping him there, hands so large they seem to eclipse his waist entirely. The consequent sound of Keith’s lips pulling away is wet and all too loud in the dimly lit room as he impulsively nudges Shiro's head to the side. Open-mouthedly follows the skin under his jaw to the hollow of his throat. Grazes his teeth on the right side of the vein so it's almost like he can feel the jump in Shiro's pulse when his breath hitches deafeningly.

 

Unsteady breathing? Check. Keith worries that spot there- right _there_ \- for a significant amount of time, teeth, lips, tongue, teeth again and Shiro is reduced to a couple of gasps, neck bared further for Keith to make his blazing way downwards perhaps, or shift up minutely to kiss the shell of his ear- no, nip at it- the possibilities are endless.

 

Just when it seems Shiro is about to say something, his lips part like maybe he's about to groan it low in his throat, Keith latches onto his lips again and revels in the way Shiro's legs fall open when Keith just oh-so-barely nudges a thigh between them, insistent- so Shiro doesn't say a word so much as he gasps it- “- _fuck_ -”

 

“That's right,” hums Keith, the pleased note coming through plainly, that for all Shiro's smirking, for all his being such a large guy- it doesn't take much render him helpless. All it takes is Keith, taking Shiro's bottom lip gently between his own, involuntarily making his own small noise when Shiro's fingers dig past the waistband of his briefs.

 

Between one sharp breath and the next, Shiro pulls away slightly and with much difficulty. Glazed, dilated eyes look back at Keith, hair a mess and color high on his cheeks. Shiro is a sight. There's a borderline laugh there, a crooked smile even with the dazed expression that graces his face “You're totally getting off on this-”

 

Dryly, Keith makes a show of looking down where he practically has a whole leg against Shiro's crotch- Jesus, not to mention his own hard-on- and says, “Gee, ya think?”

 

Even with three different hickies taking shape on his neck, Shiro rolls his eyes perfectly. “No, I mean off on-” he waves around the basement- “-all of this.” And yes, the basement is dark, the TV still flashing but insignificant, there's an old computer on a messy desk, a couple errant pieces of clothing not to mention a chip bag, a stack of graphic novels and a shelf full of CDs- it's not tidy. It's Lance, after all, undeniably so.

 

Shiro’s right. So, sue Keith.

 

In any case, the current matter at hand- Shiro is much-too-smug under Keith- only has Keith grinning with a flash of teeth. “Aww, Shiro,” he swoops down to let the purr flow just to Shiro's ear, “Don't tell me you don't love it too.”

 

Not even the slightest bit disgruntled, Shiro just returns a hand to cup the back of Keith's neck, much too soft. A reminder of his presence more than a signal for a kiss. “And if I do? What about Lance?”

 

“Oh come on, I've seen him,” Keith says breezily, “If he doesn't want this, then I'm blind.”

 

It's not uncertainty that Shiro has, but the weight of concern. “He’s your best friend.”

 

“And because of that, I'm extra sure.” And Keith isn't just saying it to say it. He's _noticed_ the way Lance looks at them- from the side of his eye, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he doesn't trust them anywhere else, lips wetting themselves subconsciously- yeah, Keith _knows_.

 

Lance wants them just as badly as they want him.

 

Keith sees it, alright- Keith, not even known to be the most perceptive person in the room ever, can _see_ it. He can taste it, in the air, when he slides past Lance to grab something, or when he finds their gazes locked- for the slightest second- from across the room, or when Shiro sighs too loudly as he stretches and Keith swears to God, he can see Lance’s eyes catch and his breath latch-

 

And Keith doesn’t feel the slightest bit jealous or ticked off. Just a note of empathy rings through him and the sudden image- Lance, under Shiro, under _him-_

 

Keith’s pretty sure the first warning sign of- whatever this is- was the fact that Lance eyeing Shiro didn’t even phase him in any way besides- besides wanting Lance even more. Needing him? Craving him.

 

By now, Shiro’s hand has gravitated back to its place on Keith’s hip, where he traces soothing circles into the patch of skin, calm, controlled. He’s peering up at Keith, gaze introspective and nearly unreadable.

 

Then, his thumb shifts hot- and Shiro’s rising with a crazy fluid ease that curl-ups don’t usually exhibit, to meet Keith’s lips with his own in a rush of charged heat. The sharp inhale that Keith takes is one of surprise because, well, Shiro is kissing with _intent_ now. The kind of intent that gets them _places_. The kind of intent that makes Keith’s head spin so he’s the one that can’t breathe correctly anymore, and suddenly Shiro’s got both his hands under his shirt, roving with burning purpose. The fire’s gone and sucked all the oxygen out of the air and Keith’s along for the ride, curved over on top of Shiro and yet no longer in control anymore, not this time-

 

“Shiro-” the name falls from Keith’s buzzing lips, between bruising kisses, “ _-Shiro-_ ”

 

That slow, syrupy kissing? The gradual, building movement? Gone. In one dizzying moment, Shiro sits up with Keith still in his lap- Keith’s shirt is fucking _gone_. Truth be told, Shiro doesn’t usually take the reins like this, forcing Keith back, making him acquiesce with slack lips and shut eyes. The only thing to do is keep his hands on Shiro’s shoulders, his neck, cling to his shirt- let Shiro have his way with the hollow of his throat-

 

“ _God_ -” Keith has to choke out the word when Shiro grasps at his thigh, squeezing hard but pointedly missing where he _really_ wants the friction, “Shiro, I love you-”

 

Consequently, Shiro huffs a low laugh and slowly- so slowly drags the heel of his hand over the front of Keith's pants. The weak moan that escapes Keith is muffled into Shiro's skin even as he almost involuntarily hooks his legs around a tapered waist. The words don't make it out alive but he feels them, “- _please, please pleasepleaseple_ -”

 

“Hey, guys? I wasn't sure if you wanted, like, Sour Cream and Onion Pringles or Barbecue Flavored Pringles, so I just bought both-” It's Lance, loud even in the distance. Shiro and Keith freeze instinctively at the approach then fading of Lance's footsteps. Silence, bated breaths. “Guys?” Lance calls, voice closer this time.

 

He's probably right outside the basement door.

 

There's a split second when Shiro smiles, not necessarily a sunny or joy-filled smile. It's a sure smile. Confident. He knows what he's doing when he deliberately scratches his teeth over Keith's jaw, even as Lance's footsteps sound- Shiro clamps down a little harder in the shadow under his ear even as the doorknob turns and the door flies open.

 

Keith's got his back to the entrance so he can't see Lance enter- and anyways, Shiro takes the opportunity to tug on Keith’s hips just as he jerks his own upwards and the elicited whimper couldn't have been muffled if Keith had tried.

 

Judging from the noise of surprise from behind them- maybe a choked cough or a gasp - Lance has seen them, heard Keith, and knows exactly what the fresh hell is going on.

 

“U-uh-” It's a loud stammer, uncertain, taken aback- it's Lance, fumbling, unprepared. It's not like he's never seen them kiss before, but this is different. This is different because Keith’s shirtless and Shiro hasn’t stopped his attention to Keith’s neck- this is different because when Keith finally turns to see Lance, he’s completely aware of how he must look. Flushed, tousled hair, lips slick.

 

It’s also different because Keith doesn’t say a word- what can he say?  Maybe once, he would have flushed a brighter red and clambered out of Shiro’s arms, sputtering an apology. He and Shiro used to lay off the PDA, before. Just out of courtesy- or something. Delaying the inevitable? Who knew. The thing was, Lance was Keith’s best friend, the guy who used to be his only friend, and then they grew up and suddenly Keith had a boyfriend and it felt like exclusion when Keith kissed Shiro so he opted to just never let Lance see it.

 

In a way, it had never felt quite right- not that loving Shiro was wrong, but it was off kilter, trying to keep their relationship from Lance- or trying to keep Lance from their relationship.  But, it had gotten harder and harder for Keith to lie to himself.

 

Keith isn’t lying anymore. He’s burning somewhere deep and the way he’s looking at Lance now- he doesn’t need words.  After all, of he and Lance, Keith has never been the one known to depend on words to get his message across.

 

The only thing tethering Keith here is the pressure of Shiro’s grip on his thigh and the cold shock of Lance’s gaze. His mouth opens- closes- Lance is speechless. Who would have thought? Even in the minimal lighting, Keith can’t miss it when Lance swallows jerkily and takes a faltering step back.

 

“Uh- sorry,” croaks Lance- and _shit_ , he’s looking ashen now, he’s actually stepping away, already half turned away as he flees to the door-  “I’ll just- go-”

 

“ _Lance-_ ”

 

It comes out too loud, unintentionally hoarse- yeah because Keith’s voice does that thing- saying Lance’s name is like a shout in the dark, scrabbling for purchase- to grab his hand.

 

Lance stills immediately but Keith can’t see his face. He’s motionless, hand almost to the doorknob, shoulders semi-hunched. God, no-

 

“Lance,” it’s softer this time, imploring. Keith’s got one hand laced with Shiro’s, taking comfort from the steady squeeze and for a jolting moment Keith finds himself faced with the glaring idea that at least Shiro will still be here if Lance pulls open that door and disappears. “Come here.”

 

For one chilling moment, an eternity of fear running up Keith’s back. It seems that Lance is about to tear away from the pull of Keith’s tone, ignore the gravel in his voice or the underlying plea. But then he turns on a heel, eyes lowered when he approaches. There’s that swallow again, like he has words combusting before he can find them-

 

Impulsively, Keith grabs Lance’s hand when he gets close. It’s weird, but he does it anyways, he takes Lance’s long fingers in his own, notices their shaking, and shifts away from Shiro the slightest. Making space.  “Hey.”

It’s almost painful because Lance won’t look at Keith. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking- but he came, didn’t he? He’s not tugging his hand away. He’s not protesting about how weird it is, implying a threesome. He’s not joking. He’s just- _not_.

 

So, Keith does the only thing he can think of which is to shift even farther out of Shiro’s grasp. He’s sitting between Shiro’s legs now, no longer clinging to his lap- if Keith’s right, Lance is going to be the one sitting in Shiro’s lap.

 

“C’mere,” Keith murmurs, not even exactly sure what he’s doing anymore besides the fact that Lance’s nails are starting to dig into his palm and he just swallowed again, the way he swallows when Keith makes a suggestively flirty comment (he’d been doing that for weeks now, _weeks_ ). And he moves shakily but not unwillingly when Keith tugs him forward, practically helping him hook a leg over Shiro, who sits complacently as he lets Keith do what needs to be done.

 

Namely, getting Lance settled comfortably without him elbowing Shiro in the face.

 

Keith’s pulse is racing again by the time their awkward shifting is over- what are words anyways, when Lance hasn’t let go of Keith’s hand this whole time? When he grips Shiro’s knee in what can only be anticipation? When his every breath is audible and shaky? Lance still doesn’t look up, though he’s facing Keith.

 

More silence, as Shiro, hesitant at first, slides a hand up the side of Lance’s arm, the warm, first-time kind of touch that Lance shudders into.

 

Keith doesn’t really want to talk.  This isn’t about talking- they can say so much more _without_ talking- his mouth is dry and his pulse is hammering high in his throat now because, yeah, Lance almost ran off but now he’s sprawled between Shiro’s thighs, all his gangly lines and his slender limbs.  Sure, he hasn’t looked up yet, but Keith sees the line of his jaw and the column of his throat, and _fuck-_ how long has he wanted this?

 

Again on impulse, subconsciously, Keith draws his own shaky breath, laying his hands on each of Lance’s legs. Just. Gathering himself. Yes, with Shiro he can be a smooth fuck, and he can pin Shiro down and whisper sultry things into his ear-

 

But this is Lance. Lance, already unsteady just with Keith’s absent-minded leg-touching. Lance, who Keith had always thought he would never need words with- and yet somehow, in the past few months, they’d been stuck in a disconnect, Keith aware and Lance in denial and -

 

Lance makes a funny strangled sound when Keith shifts his weight forward, bracing himself more on Lance’s crossed legs, leaning closer.  Not too close but close enough to make himself heard. “Lance. _Look_ at me.”  

 

It’s not nearly a request as much as it’s a command. It’s Keith, needing to see Lance’s eyes when he kisses him, needing to know that Lance _does_ want this, because for all his bluster, Keith is… afraid.  

 

The blue of Lance’s eyes is startlingly deep- azure- and yet clear. Clear, like he’s made a decision somewhere between Keith’s words and making eye contact, as if while he had lifted his gaze, he had said to himself, _yes_.

 

“ _Kiss me_.” The scratch of Lance’s voice is an exquisite thing that sends a spark of electricity racing up Keith’s spine as he surges to comply.

 

Their kiss moves with the heat of a thousand stars- there is not a moment of reprieve, no waste of breath, and Keith revels in the sharp tug of fingers in his hair. Everything now is push and pull- the quickening of Lance’s inhalations responds to Keith pressing him back- against Shiro's front, bracing his hands on Lance's chest to shift closer and all the while pinning him to Shiro's body. It's messy, uncontained sort of kiss, because all Keith wants is to get closer and closer and somehow let Lance know just how badly he wants it, that the hint of Lance's tongue is enough to fire all the neurons in his brain.

 

It’s a frightening momentum they hurtle forward with, adding to the temperature blazing higher when Lance lets whatever noises that arise fall from his lips.  Already chatty under normal circumstances, the constant slide of their lips together only serves to make Lance’s semi-words more breathy, muffled- but a clear indication.  He chokes out a broken moan when Keith pulls away and Keith feels a sudden thrill that the loss of his presence could pull such a desperate sound from Lance.

 

“You make the prettiest noises,” Keith breathes without a second thought- the widening of Lance’s eyes as his lips part- _yes_. Shiro, taking advantage of the momentary pause, loops an arm lower on Lance’s waist and pulls his slimmer figure closer before leaning to whisper in his ear.

 

There’s no tell-tale smirk on Shiro’s lips, so it’s not something sweet and dirty- no, but Lance reddens slightly more anyways. Then, with one of his hands still gripping Keith’s wrist, Lance turns in Shiro’s hold to plant a small, barely-kiss on his lips.

 

It's almost a chaste kiss, disregarding the fact that they're back-to-front and Shiro’s hand has almost absent-mindedly made its way under Lance's shirt. When Lance pulls away, his face is even more heated- and Keith thinks of years ( _years_ , for God's sake) ago when he and Lance had joked about how hot Shiro was- except, of course, it’s evident that neither of them had been joking.

 

This is right. It feels more right than anything to see Lance smile almost bashfully and move to duck his head away- until Shiro catches his lips again with muffled words, “No, not yet-” There's a glimpse of teeth when Lance all-out grins into the kiss and a little jump in Keith's chest.

 

This one is a messier kiss, erring on the side of sloppy- after all, Lance's head is at an awkward angle and the curve of Shiro's lips indicates an intent to overwhelm. Truth be told, it's a hypnotic sight, the craning of Lance’s neck and the back-and-forth of their lips slotting together, a frantic chase against time- or making up for it. And somehow, _somewhen,_ Keith finds himself a few shuddering breaths from the column of Lance's throat, his lips just barely brushing, glancing off the fevered skin there.

 

He holds himself back for several heartbeats. Letting his lips lay there, the merest suggestion of a kiss, a miniscule hint of his tongue wetting a spot. Letting his exhalation ghost over a collarbone as he listens to the stutter of Lance's breathing.

 

Keith prompted that.

 

That fact is sweet, just as sweet as the taste of Lance on his tongue, _finally_ , just as sweet as the noises Keith can hear through the skin, though swallowed by Shiro before they make it through humid air.

 

It's all too easy to get lost in the heat, in Lance's shifting between them and the broken gasping that dominates the moment of lost contact when Keith finds the hem of Lance's thin cotton tee and has to leave off his marking to tug the shirt over Lance's head.

 

Keith has to pause again once the article of clothing is removed- probably to join its brethren on the basement floor. He pauses because it's almost funny that in his twenty years of life and thirteen of being best friends with Lance and the countless times of seeing him without a shirt, this is the first time for _this_.

 

This is first time Keith sees the faint freckles over Lance’s torso and _really_ gets to see them- their constellations- and know he has the time to trace them all.

 

This is the first time Keith’s hands grow unsteady with the need to touch- and he doesn’t have to resist.

 

This is the first time that Lance shivers under Keith’s fingertips and says his name, utters it with such desperation, “ _Keith_ ,” like _that-_

 

The flush that spreads down Lance’s chest is a dusky rose- Shiro’s right hand glints, spread out over Lance’s abdomen, soothing, cool shapes traced into skin. And the best part is, Keith knows exactly how that feels, the naturally cool metal combined with searing want, the sparking feel of contact dancing over tensing muscles. He covers Shiro’s hand in his own to feel its path- lets his fingers trail down Lance between Shiro’s.

 

Distantly, Keith is aware that Lance is speaking now- Shiro has moved onto the curvature of Lance’s spine and Lance arches back so beautifully. His words are disjointed, hushed, barely distinguishable, but every time Lance lets either of their names drop from his slackening lips the fire in Keith’s ribcage is stoked higher. Hotter.  

 

He can almost hear the flames roaring in his ears, amidst the gasps that Lance utters, and it's addicting, making Lance fall apart. Keith feels like it's been an eternity of blazing touch, hands skirting hands skirting smooth skin skirting, _finally_ , the waistband of Lance's jeans.

 

He still can't get enough.

 

Thank God for Shiro, Keith finds it in his haze to think, steady beneath them, the anchor to their unsteady rocking and the pillar to their arches. There are so many hands- warm and firm, others shaking just as badly as Keith’s and twice as damp, but Keith knows Shiro's hands are there, always. Whether they're roaming the length of Lance's body, tangling into Keith's hair to pull him in for one more open, hot-slick kiss, or helping Keith with the stubborn metal teeth of Lance's zipper.

 

Lance gulps in air in the moment of the briefest reprieves,while both Keith and Shiro end up having to direct their attention to the jeans- he's muttering, “God, hurry the _fuck_ up, I'm serious-”

 

And Keith might hiss, “I _am_ -” but maybe he just thinks that. Really, he can't be sure because the sight of Shiro exposing his teeth just the slightest as he begins to mouth down the slope of Lance's shoulder drives Keith to distraction. As does the firm slide of Shiro's hands down Lance's thighs, effectively helping them fall further apart and Lance makes a broken keening sound high in his exposed throat. It stands to say that the sound of Shiro's palms on denim should not be so seductive but Keith never ceases to be amazed.

 

It takes one more impatient tug, Keith isn't even looking at what he’s doing because Shiro is leaving honest-to-god _marks_ on Lance's beautifully curved shoulders, and the zipper admits defeat and gives way. One look at Lance and Keith is gone- Lance has got his head thrown back, eyes shut tight, and his swallow of anticipation is too raw and bared for Keith to resist.

 

He leans in. _Bites_. It's not hard but the hitch of faint surprise- the slight jolt of Lance's body underneath him- it's electrifying, like the buzzing of Keith's lips from all the swollen kisses, the give of Lance's skin sliding under his teeth.

 

Lance is going to look like a real piece of work when they're done. He's going to be be marked all over, flushed, wrecked, shining with sweat, incoherent-

 

“Listen- I-” choked words from Lance as fingers slide under the elastic of his briefs, “ _God_ -” he's cut short-

 

“What is it?” Keith breathes it, hushed voice because his chest feels so goddamn tight. He's burning up inside out and there's no space in his lungs, but that's alright because all he wants to do is make Lance feel _so fucking good_.

 

Lance has his face almost hidden in the side of Shiro's neck. “Please-” begging already?  “ _Please_ , I just-”

 

“Yeah?” The husky quality of Keith's voice isn't even funny, he knows he sounds just as wrecked as Lance.  And every subtle tightening of fingers, both metal and flesh, on Lance’s thighs, causes him to shudder farther from control. Every moment of heated contact that drags on unravels Lance a bit farther, affects Keith a bit deeper.  

 

There's a litany of words coming from Lance now, a half-conscious mantra of pleas and breaths and curses- a steady stream to juxtapose the scorching taste of desire that permeates the room like pheromones in the air. “Just- just kiss me, okay- please, I want-”

 

Lance doesn’t get to finish the thought before his want is answered. It’s not strange that behind the fragmented words, Keith _knows_ what Lance wants. Lance wants to feel connected. He wants to feel the heat at the tip of his tongue, keep it close- keep _Keith_ close. He wants to feel inseparable, indecipherable, _irreplaceable_.

 

Because Keith wants that too- God only knows how much.

 

Between one slide of skin against skin to the next, Shiro rests his chin right beside where Lance cranes forward to meet Keith’s lips- snagging his own sweltering kiss before allowing his hands to join Keith’s. To their general surprise- Lance might actually _whimper_ \- there’s an additional slickness when Shiro joins in, Keith vaguely remembers chucking lube under the couch cushions and hadn’t retrieved it, _so-_ the mental image of Shiro lifting a hand to his lips- a wavering trail of saliva-

 

Seizing some raven-black hair within his grasp, boiling deep in his veins, Keith collides with Shiro over Lance’s curved figure. “Jesus _fuck_ ,” he has to groan into the melding of their lips, “You did _that_.”

The dark chuckle that escapes Shiro entices Keith to take that tantalizing bottom lip between his own, to make Shiro lose the breath he’d only just stolen. “That I did,” Shiro still replies, smug and pleased and all too effective at simultaneously kissing Keith stupid and stroking Lance with newfound ease. Lance's blissful sounds are muffled into Keith's collarbone and his breath is coming in pants to huff against already damp skin, while slender fingers are gripping Keith's hips with an almost startling desperation.

 

Keith can already feel the pride with which he’ll bear the marks. They're his. In turn, he keeps his hands with Shiro’s, letting Shiro take the lead now- he has bigger hands, and a steadier grip at this point. Honestly, Keith feels heady with the scent of all of them, the heat and the heaving and Lance and Shiro and _Lance and Shiro and_ -

 

“-fuck-”

 

Keith is irrationally reminded of the last few snaps of firewood before the fire burns out, a beautiful sputtering. Everything that Lance utters is beautiful, though he grows more tongue-tied by each passing pulse.

 

There is no crescendo though, no, Lance gasps it again, more brokenly, “ _fuck_ -” And then there's silence- the strain of his neck as his head falls back again, the tensing of his throat but none of the expected moans falling. Lance is soundless, silently overwhelmed, completely overtaken by the undertow as everything accelerates for all three of them, their hearts, minds, souls- hurtling toward an endless new frontier and-

 

Keith is struck, suddenly and again, by the feeling that his whole body is shaking apart, but Shiro is the unmoving platform for them; he is struck by the peaking temperature within himself and the complete void of sound that is Lance, trapped  within himself, but all the while Keith can hear himself grow _louder_ , groaning merely at the sight beneath him; he is struck in a moment of clarity, by the broad span of Shiro’s hands, large and all encompassing, and Lance’s graceful digits digging into the jut of his hips.

 

And what a perfect paradox they are, a coordinated contradiction of life and limb, when Lance arches for the last time without a single breath escaping and Keith curves into him to steal a kiss with “ _Lance_ -” already too-loud on his lips, and Shiro reaches around to hook hands under each of Keith's knees, drawing him closer at the last minute-

 

They make sense yet no sense at all and there are not words enough to really say.

 

In the few moments left for breathing, afterwards, Keith feels his fire ebb the slightest.  His needs don't even matter at this point, not with his jeans still buttoned while Lance's hadn't even made it halfway down his thighs. Hell, Shiro's shirt is still somehow intact.

 

No, Keith doesn't have to be taken care of, not when Lance slumps forward into his chest, ignoring the world around him. Not when Shiro leans over to the coffee table for a couple of tissues and cleans them off and all Keith has to do is card his fingers through Shiro's hair thoughtfully, other hand subconsciously resting on the side of Lance's still rapidly rising ribcage.

 

Something about… everything had sated Keith and he didn't want anymore, not yet. It was more than enough now to recline into the two bodies beside him and content himself with the return of their normal breathing patterns.

 

Keith didn't know what exactly he had wanted or expected today, he didn't know what exactly he had intended past finding Lance's lips on his own and maybe more. But now he knows.

 

Keith wants Lance's head tucked under his chin and Shiro's arm settled warm around his waist.  

 

Keith wants the borderline disbelieving giggle under Lance's breath and the corresponding smile from Shiro, much too fond and too soft.

 

Keith wants-

 

Lance stretches minutely as if with the intention of _not_ disturbing the other two, but Keith stirs as well, drawing back to look at his best friend's face.

 

“Sorry,” Lance mutters sheepishly, “Didn't wanna bother you or anything.”

 

Shiro doesn’t even budge, apparently not phased by the arm that’s probably digging into his side. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”  And Keith echoes the sentiment, albeit more quietly and lost in thought.

 

Still semi-sluggish, Lance rolls over slightly in between the two other men, “Jeez, you two, really-”

 

A laugh.

 

But it's too loud.  The alarm bells go off in the background of Keith's mind.

 

“ _-really_ did a number on me-” This laugh is almost derisive, “Didn’t even get either of you off and there I was-”  

 

It’s the joke-y Lance laughter- the kind of laughter he used when he was trying to hide something. No, not just something- feelings. The bad kind.

 

“Uh, so-” Lance tried to sit up, “Where do you want me?”

 

 _Where do you want me?_ Keith opens his mouth to say something- _anything_ to correct a what must be terrible mistake-

 

Yet, Shiro beats him to the chase, a small frown furrowing his brow, “Hey, hey, _hey_ , Lance- there’s no hurry for anything like that.”

 

Lance raises an eyebrow, a mask of perfect speculation. “Uh. What do you mean?” He’s chuckling now, but not a warm chuckle, “You both seemed like you liked a bit of speed earlier- sooner this happens, the sooner I can get out of your hair, right?”

 

The words sound so _wrong-_ so very ugly, coming from Lance’s mouth. Keith had kissed that mouth. Had shared synchronized breaths and teased the corner of those lips. The words are disjointed-

 

“Lance-” Keith is scrambling for purchase on a rocky, slippery surface, “No-”

 

“No, what?” the following laugh is like broken glass, “You… didn’t want this?”

 

This? Keith- Keith is thrown by the sudden disconnect- Lance sounds indifferent and almost cold- what is _this_?  This isn’t what Keith had seen coming, not at all.

 

“Lance, I think we headed into this all wrong-” Keith is realizing now, that maybe the “ _this_ ” had been different for the two of them- God, Lance must have thought he and Shiro had just wanted a fuck on the couch, a threesome fling-

 

“-Oh what, so now you _regret_ it?” Where is all the poison in Lance’s voice _coming_ from? It stings. “Had a taste and-”

 

“Hey-” it’s a warning tone from Shiro, eyebrows pulled close together as he begins to withdraw, but Keith can’t let him intervene.

 

“ _Lance_!” Gripping Lance’s shoulder, Keith cuts him off desperately, to amend this, to put them back on the same wavelength again, “Lance, please. This…”

 

“What.” Flat. A forced facade of uncaring.

 

“This-” there’s a sudden rush of scalding anger now, familiar to Keith now that the post-sex haze and shock has faded, “Isn’t just some _messy handjob on a couch,_ okay? It’s not an _easy lay_ in the basement. _Please_.”

 

The eye contact is gone and Lance’s head has ducked again. Silence. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah, _‘oh’_ ,” the biting tone flies out and Keith immediately regrets it. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He runs a shaky hand through his hair as he takes a shuddering breath, and when his voice returns, it’s infinitely softer. “Lance. Look at me please?”

 

Lance obeys. The stricken expression on his face makes Keith’s heart clench painfully.

 

Had Lance really never considered that the feelings behind every touch had been real? That every time Keith had said Lance’s name, he’d tried to put as much of his want as he could have? That Shiro only touched intimately with his right hand the people he trusted most?

 

So Keith, unsteady heart to follow his unsteady hands, reaches out to Lance’s cheek on impulse, as softly as he can. “It wasn’t nothing. It was actually a lot. _Hey-_ ” Lance’s eyes flick back from where they had fallen. “You’re my best friend. Not a fuckbuddy.”

 

The tiniest edge of a smile flickers at the term, but is chased away by some residual apprehension.

 

Shifting, Shiro pulls closer now.  “Lance. Keith would never, _ever_ use you like that. _I_ wouldn’t do that.  You know that, I hope.”

 

All Lance can do is give a half-shrug. A watery nod.

 

“I know… that we’re technically just really good friends,” The quiet of Shiro’s voice brings gravity to his words, the weight of whole worlds centered on what he says. “But whatever else- I’m willing to be that. I.. _want_ to be that, for you.”

 

“Lance? Please, say something,” Keith is not above begging. He would never be above anything for Lance.

 

Clearing his throat, Lance looks down again. “I don’t… know what to say. There isn’t a right thing, like ‘Yes’- I’m going to- I’ll just fuck it up again.”

 

“That’s not true, but okay.” Keith’s heart flutters high in his chest now, like a lit match held to the wind, “It’s okay because I can say it.”

 

 _Keith can say it._ He really can, and when Lance finally looks up for good, blue eyes rimmed red, the words tumble out of their own accord.

 

“I love you.”

  


**Author's Note:**

>  _Take me to your best friend's house_  
>  _Go around this roundabout_  
>  Oh yeah  
>  _Take me to your best friend's house_  
>  _I loved you then and I love you now_  
>  _Oh yeah_
> 
>  
> 
> _Don't take me tongue tied_  
>  _Don't wave no goodbye_  
>  _Don't..._  
>  _Right!_
> 
>  
> 
> _Take me to your best friend's house_  
>  _Marmalade we're making out_  
>  Oh yeah  
>  _Take me to your best friend's house_  
>  _I loved you then and I love you now_
> 
>  
> 
> _Don't take me tongue tied_  
>  _Don't wave no goodbye_  
>  _Don't..._  
>  _Right!_
> 
>  
> 
> _One, two, three, four_  
>  _Don't leave me tongue tied_  
>  _Let's stay up all night_  
>  _I'll get real high_  
>  _Slumber party; pillow fight_  
>  _My eyes on your eyes_  
>  _Like Peter Pan up in the sky_  
>  _My best friend's house tonight_  
>  _Let's bump the beats till beddy-bye_
> 
>  
> 
> _Don't take me tongue tied_  
>  _Don't wave no goodbye_  
>  _Don't take me tongue tied_  
>  _Don't kiss me goodnight_  
>  _Don't..._
> 
>  
> 
> _Take me to your best friend's house_  
>  _Go around this roundabout_  
>  _Oh yeah_  
>  _Take me to your best friend's house_  
>  _I loved you then and I love you now_
> 
>  
> 
> _[2x]_  
>  _Don't leave me tongue tied_  
>  _Don't wave no goodbye_  
>  _Don't leave me tongue tied_  
>  _Don't..._
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos and Comments!! My eternal thanks to you guys, truly.  
> Take a peek at my other Shklance fic, a college AU with Artist!Lance  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/10410537  
> @harlivyHQ on twitter please come say hi?


End file.
